The Absurdity and Delight of Car Sex

Am I 44 or am I 18?

Soon after experiencing my first post-divorce sex, I wanted more — for both visceral and emotional reasons. My body craved it, and I also hoped to push past the existential weirdness of sleeping with new people and figure out how to enjoy myself. I wasn’t sure how long that would take, but I was pretty sure that having more sex was the best way to get there.

Luckily for me, a couple of weeks later, I flew to visit a friend in Missouri and she was highly supportive of these plans. We went bar hopping a few times, and I did manage to meet a very eager recently divorced man; unfortunately, you couldn’t have paid me to sleep with him. I realized getting back on FEELD was probably my best bet.

I soon matched with a cute-ish guy. I told him via text I was only in town for a few days visiting a friend and was hoping to have some fun.

“What kind of fun are you trying to get into?” he asked.

“The best kind of fun,” I replied.

Well, that did the trick. Soon we were discussing logistics. What kind of sex did I want? When and where could we meet? Who was bringing condoms? Should he bring sex toys? I suggested that we meet for a coffee first for a “vibe check,” as others have called it. (A friend of mine calls these pre-sex public rendezvous “housekeeping dates.”)

In the rush to make plans, I had, however, forgotten a crucial detail. Where, exactly, would we have sex?

About an hour before heading out to meet him, it dawned on me that I should raise this question. I’d assumed we could go back to his place; my friend has kids and I wasn’t going to bring a random guy back to her guest room. Turns out that this guy was living with his sister and didn’t want to bring me back to his place, either.

Welp. What now? Neither of us wanted to spring for a hotel. Neither of us wanted to abandon our plans. He texted: How about my Ford Bronco Sport?

I laughed aloud. Okay, sure. Why the fuck not. Let’s have car sex.

We met at the coffee shop for our drink. (I ended up getting wine instead because CAR SEX?!). When he walked in, I will admit, was underwhelmed. He was cute, but he wasn’t really my type. And he looked very different from his FEELD photos. But as we chatted over our drinks, I warmed to him. He seemed like a sweet, thoughtful guy and he was clearly nervous too, which I found endearing. And honestly, I was curious to find out whether I would enjoy having sex with someone I didn’t find all that attractive. It would be an experiment.

After we finished our drinks, we established that yes, we still wanted to sleep together. He walked me to his car, which was parked in an empty corner of a multi-level city parking garage.

OMG. We were really doing this?! I worried about other people. Cars and pedestrians were coming in and out of the garage as we walked in. What if we were seen? What if I looked up, mid-romp, and saw an old man peering into the car window at my naked writhing body? Or…. a cop? What if I got arrested for public lewdness before my divorce was even final?

I am an over-worrier so I assured myself that probably wasn’t going to happen. We climbed into the back of his car. I distinctly remember worrying about my shoes. I should take them off, right? I threw them, and my purse, into the front seat. Then we started kissing.

Ladies and gentleman, the first thing I want to tell you is that a Ford Bronco Sport is not a large car. Not if you are trying to make out in the back of it, at least. Also, this fellow did not bring a blanket, and the back of his car was covered not in fabric but in a hard, dirty, rubber-like material. Perhaps most importantly, it was 90 degrees out and we (he?) had stupidly turned the car off and hadn’t opened any windows.

I suppose you could say we made a series of rather unwise decisions. Or, maybe, we didn’t.

Almost immediately, the windows started fogging up and we began sweating so intensely that we were slickly sliding around the back of the car. The thing about sex is that you need friction and resistance. It’s why headboards and couch backs are useful. Intercourse is, if nothing else, a perfect demonstration of Newton’s laws of motion. An equal and opposite reaction indeed!

So the sex was not graceful. Nor was it pain-free — we bruised knees, elbows and heads banging ourselves against various hard things. (I have photos of the black-and-blue aftermath.) Occasionally we panicked when people or cars passed by.

Even so, mid-romp, I realized I was actually having a GRAND OLD TIME. The sex felt good, we were giggling a lot, and the bizarreness of the situation had taken me out of my head. I am generally a Very Serious Person, a personality trait that has only intensified with age and motherhood. Yet here I was, having sex with a random guy just for fun in very uncomfortable car in the middle of Missouri. I felt silly and untethered, and it was a joy to discover that this reckless part of me hadn’t died — it had just been sleeping, hiding, lurking, ready to emerge with the right ridiculous opportunity. A part of me I thought I’d lost forever was still alive, and it had been awakened.